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TILDA'S NEW HAT 



TILDA'S NEW HAT 



By 
GEORGE PASTON ^tvveuj.^ 

Author of " Feed the Brute," etc., etc 



Copyright, 1909, by Samuel French, Ltd. 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

publisher 

26 WEST 22ND STREET 



London 
SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd 
26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



c \ 



^o<\ 






(gClD 17734 



Produced at His Majesty's Theatre, 1909. 
Original Cast. 

CHARACTERS. 

Mrs. Fishwick . . Miss Agnes Thomas. 

Tilda, her daughter (em- 

ployedin a Jam Factory) Miss Florence Lloyd. 

Daisy Meadows . . Miss Sydney Fair- 
brother. 
Walter Emerson (a Bill 

Printer . . . Mr. Norman Page. 

Scene. — Room in a tenement house in Clerkenvvell. 
Tii^iE. — The present. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

Scene. — Living room in a tenement house. The usual 
cheap furniture hut with a certain attempt at smartness 
in the shape of antimacassars, mats under the lamp 
and under vases of artificial flowers. Christmas 
number pictures on the walls, and picture postcards 
on the chimneypiece, propped up against the mugs 
and photograph frames. There is a door opening on 
the passage, R.c, and a door, leading to the bedroom, 
L. A window, L.c. Fireplace, l. Under the win- 
dow is a large, old-fashioned bureau or chest of 
drawers, on which are a looking-glass and some orna- 
ments. There is a couch, R. A square table, which 
should stand in the centre of the room, has been pulled 
near the fireplace, leaving plenty of floor space, the 
chairs standing with their hacks to the wall, except 
two armchairs, one on each side of the table. On one 
of the small chairs a concertina or accordion is lying. 

Mrs. Fishwick sits by the table, l,, working at a striped 
cotton shirt. She is a hard-featured woman of the 
grim and gloomy Puritan type, with drab hair and 

- drab clothes. 

Tilda lolls on the couch, r. , shoimng a plentiful display 
of ankle. She is a dark, showy-looking girl, n'ith 
black hair puffed out over her ears, and coming low 
on her forehead in a large fringe or three sausage curls. 
She wears a fawn skirt and a bright blue satin blouse, 
very fussily made, with a large cape collar of white 



8 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

crochet lace. Round her collarless neck is a string of 
big pearl heads, and her dress is fastened by a large 
gilt brooch. In her ears are large earrings. She 
wears a number of bangles on her wrists. She is 
engaged in pinning black ostrich feathers into a 
huge black velvet or satin hat. 

Mrs. F. {querulously). Why ever don't you sew 
them feathers in, Tilda. The pins '11 never hold. 

Tilda. Ow, I haven't the patience. When I've 
pinned 'em, you can tack 'em in ... I wish you'd 
hurry up with that blouse, ma. I want to wear it 
Monday. 

Mrs. F. {grumblingly) . This stuff is just like a bit 
of ticking. Breaks all me needles. Wherever you 
got it, I don't know 

Tilda. Tuppence farthing at the Salvage Sale, 
and it'll wash and wear for ever. Three yards I got. 
That's six-three the blouse. 

Mrs. F. You don't reckon the hooks and the 
thread and my time. 

Tilda. Ow, your time ! (Laughs.) That's worth 
a fat lot, ain't it ? . . . {Looks at clock.) You'll 
have to run out in a minute to get some bloater paste 
for tea. 

Mrs. F. Why ? What for ? Who's coming ? 

Tilda. Mr. Emerson said he might look round on 
his way to the Institute. 

Mrs. F. That why you got your best blouse on ? 
You going to walk out with him to-morrow ? 

Tilda {snubbingly). Maybe I shall, maybe I 
shan't. 

Mrs. F. I thought he was Daisy Meadows' chap. 
{Virtuously.) When / was a gal, I didn't take other 
gals' chaps away. 

Tilda. Couldn't get 'em, I suppose. 

Mrs. F. Get a dozen if I wanted 'em. Ah, things 
was very different in my young day. We didn't stand 
a soldier drinks, and pay him a bob a kiss. 



1 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 9 

Tilda [firing up). And no more don't I. I hope 
I look higher than a Tommy. 

Mrs. F. (disparagingly). With your looks you'll 
have to take what you can get. Why, you ain't got 
no figure. When I was your age, I had a bust like a 
band-box. 

Tilda. I like to see my own feet. 

Mrs. F. And you ain't got a ha'porth o' colour. 
My cheeks were that rosy you could see 'em half a 
mile away. 

Tilda. I should have floured 'em. 

Mrs. F. Yes, you woitld, and that's why your 
skin's so coarse. My skin was like satin. Ah, dear ! 
I only had to pick and choose. 

Tilda. It's a wonder you didn't pick some one 
better than father. 

Mrs. F. Father was all right when I married him. 

Tilda [pertly). Then was it you drove him to the 
drink ? 

Mrs. F. [rising). Fll drive you somewhere if you 
give me any more sauce. (Looking at hat.) I 
wouldn't have been seen with a thing like that on me 
head. A nice chip bonnet, trimmed with ribbon and 
tied under me chin, me hair neatly parted, and 
gathered in a chenille net behind 

Tilda [contemptuously). Oh, I dare say. You 
were in service ; you had to say " Yes' m — no 'm." 
(Mimicking.) Catch me demeaning meself ! Give 
me me independence 

Mrs. F. If you like to call it independence, and 
the boss always after you with the fine-book. 

Bell rings. 

Tilda. Just run down and see whether that's 
Mr. Emerson — or the milk. 

Mrs. F. More like one of them Mulhgan kids 
ringing the bell for a lark. I'll wring his neck if I 
can catch him. 



10 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

Mrs. Fishwick exits, r.c. Tilda hums a tune, and 
tries on her hat before the glass. Mrs. Fishwick 
returns, followed by Walter Emerson. He is a 
tall, pale, dark young man with an austere, earnest 
expression, and is dressed in a semi- artistic, semi- 
socialist style. He wears a loose, dark tweed coat, a 
bright red tie, a rather low collar, and a Trilby hat, 
which he takes off as he comes into the room. He 
speaks carefully, and rather mincingly, carefully pro- 
nouncing most of his h's. The cockney accent, of the 
genteeler sort, is still quite perceptible. His manner 
is serious and soulful, and he gazes yearnfully at 
Tilda. When seated, he twists his legs into knots, 
and pulls his fingers, as though he were trying to crack 
the joints. 

Mrs. F. It 'taint the milk. It's only Mr. Emerson. 
{Sits, R.) 

Emerson. Good-afternoon, Miss Fishwick. I hope 
you are very well. I'm sorry Mrs. Fishwick should 
have had the trouble 

Tilda. Oh, that's all right. (To Mrs. Fishwick.) 
Best put your bonnet on and fetch the paste now. 

Emerson (perfunctorily). But cawn't I — - — 

Tilda. No, no, sit down, Mr. Emerson. It does 
ma good to get a bit of a run. 

Mrs. F. So you think. [Gets up and puts on old 
cricket cap.) Wait till you've got various veins in both 
your legs. 

Exit Mrs. Fishwick, l. 

Emerson (s///mg, R. Tilda sits on table,!..). I took 
the liberty of bringing you this little volume round, 
Miss Fishwick. Five Minutes with the Finest 
Authors. There are some beautiful pieces in it. 
(Gets up and gives her book. Sits down on chair, r. , of 
table.) 

Tilda (carelessly). Oh, thanks. I like a nice tale 
meself. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 11 

Emerson (earnestly). But don't you think, Miss 
Fishwick, we ought to read something instructive, if 
it's only for five minutes in the day ? 

Tilda. Can't say it's a long-felt want 

Emerson. Now I'm going to try and persuade you 
to join our Mutual Improvement Debating Society. 
Ladies are admitted as honorary members. Of course, 
^ve don't expect 'em to speak. 

Tilda. Oh, don't you ? I should speak fast 
enough if I wanted to. 

Emerson (taking out a paper). I brought the*silli- 
bus of our winter session 

Tilda. Silly bus ! There is plenty of them about. 
(Laughs.) 

Emerson (with a pained smile). I don't think you 
quite understand. This is a kind of prospectus, gives 
the list of lectures, with discussion to follow. Tenny- 
son, Browning, Carlyle, Rusking 

Tilda (obviously bored). I've seen Tennyson with 
O'Gorman at the Met. 

Emerson. Lord Tennyson, the powet. 

TiLda. Oh, I'm not taking any ! I don't want 
to improve nobody, nor I don't want to be improved 
meself. 

E^Terson (rising). Well, now. I think there's 
nothing like a little culture. I've dipped into nearly 
every volume in the Hundred Best Books, and read 
some of 'em right through. 

Tilda. Chase me ! 

Emerson. But I know there's several more books 
I ought to read before I can call myself a reely cul- 
tured man. (With enthusiasm.) Oh, Miss Fishwick, 
I should so like to form your mind. 

Tilda. Form me mind ! What's the matter with 
me mind ? Lectures, indeed ! I got lectures enough 
when I was a kid. 

Emerson (with a tolerant smile). Oh, well, p'raps 
the dramatic society is more in your hne. I'll send 



12 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

you tickets for our next show. Part one-»-Scenes 
from Hamlet. They've let me in for Hamlet. 

Tilda. You print the programmes for nothing 
don't you ? Let's see, it was Rowmeo last time I 
went. (Sweetly.) You was Rowmeo. 

Emerson smirks. 

Oh lor, how I did yawn ! 

Emerson. Yawn? 

Tilda. I think Shikespeare's overrated. Give me 
'All Caine. 

Emerson (distressed). Oh, Miss Fishwick ! 

Tilda. Ain't you going to do anything more 
lively ? A coon song, or a cake walk ? 

Emerson. Part two — Recitations by Members, 
of the Society. They've let me in for two. 

Tilda. Two ! 

Emerson. The Forsaken Veteran and the Little 
Stowaway. I happen to have the book in my pocket. 
P'raps you wouldn't mind hearing me me words. 

Tilda. Righto. But you've got to play milliner's 
dummy for me first. I can't get these feathers to me 
mind. 

Puts hat on his head, and surveys him thoiightfully . 
He maintains a dAgnified attitude. 

Yes, them front feathers might be a bit higher. Ah, 
that's a lot more styUsh. Haw, haw, you look got 
up for 'Amlet now. 

Emerson. Don't make me ridiculous. 

Tilda (pricks her finger). Oh, damn the pin ! 

Emerson (starts). I beg your pardon. 

Tilda. Oh, it just sHpped out. 'Taint s' often L 
use language before a gentleman. (Takes hat off.) 

Emerson (with solemn admiration). That's a hand- 
some hat — good taste, too. 

Tilda (complacently). Yes, whatever I has, I must 
have good. Nothing cheap and nasty for me. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 13 

Emerson {holds out his book, and points to the 
place). If you don't mind. Top of the page. 
Tilda. Oh, all right. Chuck it off your chest. 

Tilda sits on table, while Emerson stands, centre. 

Emerson. The Forsaken Veteran. 

He strikes an appropriate attitude and bursts into recita- 
tion with theatrical expression and exaggerated gesti- 
cidation. He should try to "act" the piece with 
all the vices of the cheap elocutionist. 

" Old and feeble, scarred and maimed, a poor old man 
who has fought and bled 

In the greatest victories of English arms — I found 
unsheltered and unfed. 

The faded ribbons upon his breast, the emblems of 
honour and valiant deed, 

Are all the comforts that cheer him now, in his 'oary 
age — hodiXy age and his /^our of need. 

He does not speak with a bitter thought of his treat- 
ment now at his country's hand ; 

He makes no complaint — complaint — ■ — (Dries up.) 

Tilda {who has been fidgeting with hat). Complaint 
— complaint. (Hastily looks for place in book, and 
rattles off.) 
" For his heart is loyal to his Emperor King and his 

native land." 
Emerson (starting line afresh). 
" He makes no complaint, for his heart is loyal to his 

Emperor King and his native land. 
He simply points to his shabby coat, the spot where 

the ribbons adorn his breast, 
' That's all I am worth,' he will only say, 
That's all he is worth ; we can guess the rest.". . . 

Tilda yawns loudly and openly. 

Emerson (stopping short), I'm afraid I'm boring 
you, Miss Fishwick. 



14 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

Tilda (comfortably continuing her yawn). •Ow, no, 
but p'raps you'd better keep the rest till the night. 
That'll leave me something to look forward to. 

Organ strikes up outside. 

Tilda [excitedly, rushing to the window, and speaking 
through the last two lines). Ow, there's an orgin ! 
(Looking out.) . He's got a monkey. What's that 
they're playing ? Oh, it's " The Twi — Twilight " — 
that's a good song. Ever hear Lash wood sing it ? 
Goes something like this. (Begins first humming and 
then singing in provocative style.) 

" In the twi-twi-twilight, 

Out in the beautiful twilight — 

They all go out for a walk, walk, walk, 

A quiet old spoon and a talk, talk, talk. 

That's the time they long for, 

Just before the night. 

And many a grand little wedding is planned 

In the twi-twi-light." 

(Dances, with high kicks, etc.) 

The music suddenly gets more rapid. 

Tilda. Oh, lor, now we're off ! 

Whirls round quicker and quicker. Emerson has stood 
leaning forward, and gazing at her with devouring 
eyes. As the music suddenly breaks off, Tilda stops 
whirling, giddy and breathless, and sways towards 
Emerson. He makes a sudden spring forward, 
catches her in his arms, and kisses her. Tilda yields 
for an instant, then gives him a ringing slap on the 
face, breaking away as she does so. 

Tilda (breathlessly). Call yourself a gentleman ." 
Is that the way to treat a lady ? 

Emerson (sobered). I'm sorry — I forgot meself — 
just for the moment. I apologize. You'll overlook 
it, Miss Fishwick? 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 15 

Tilda [with a show of resentment). Don't make too 
sure of that. 

Emerson. Don't be hard-hearted, Miss Fishwick. 
If you ivill look so fetching, how can a poor feller 
behave himself? (Insinuatingly.) You ought al 
ways to wear blue, you know^ Blue 's your colour. 
{Touches her sleeve.) 

Tilda. D'ye' want a cut hp as well as a thick 
ear? [Goes down, l.) 

Emerson. Do you know what I came for to- 
day ? 

Tilda. Came to make a nuisance of yourself. 

Emerson. Came to ask if you'd walk out wdth me 
to-morrow ? It 'ud be lovely in Alexandra Park. 

Tilda. Thought you walked out with Miss 
Meadow^s. 

Emerson. I suppose a gentleman needn't always 
walk out with the same young lady. 

Tilda [with decision). He would if he was mine. 

Emerson. Yours would never want a change. 
Will you — ^Tilda. (Tries to take her hand.) You 
know I'd do anything in the world for you. 

Tilda. Would yer ? Then p'raps you'll just run 
round to the cobbler, and fetch my shoes home. 
(Crosses, L.) It's the little man at the corner of East 
Street — you know\ 

Emerson. Of course — delighted. (Following her.) 
But first — w^on't you give me 

Tilda. Oh, the money — I shall forget my own 
head next ; there'll be tenpence to pay — -here's a 
shilling. (Takes it off mantelpiece.) 

Emerson (reproachfully). You know I didn't 

mean (Takes her outstretched hand with the 

money, and draws her towards him. She hangs hack 
coyly.) Little floweret ! 

Tilda (wriggling). Oh, go on ! Get away closer. 

Emerson (bending towards her). Just one. 

Mrs. Fishwick's voice is heard outside in altercation. 



16 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

Mrs. F. Better go 'ome and sleep if offf dear. 
Tilda {quickly, pttshing Emerson away before he can 
kiss her). There's ma back again. 
Emerson (turning away). Oh, dem ! 

E7iter Mrs. Fishwick. 

Mrs. F. (speaking into passage). I may be no lady, 
but I don't go to bed with me boots on. (Shuts 
door.) 

Tilda. Ma, Mr. Emerson's going to run to the 
cobbler's for my shoes. That'll save you going out 
again, won't it ? 

Mrs. F. (sitting down, r.). You wouldn't get me 
down them stairs again in a hurry. I wish you could 
feel my legs. 

Emerson (at door). Aii revoir, as we say in France. 

Tilda. So long. 

Exit Emerson. 

Mrs. F. (inquisitively). What you sent him out 
for ? You know your shoes won't be ready afore 
Monday. 

Tilda (l.). Things was getting warm — and I 
wanted a bit of time to think. I don't hardly know 
me own mind. 

Mrs. F. If he says " snip " you'd better say 
" snap." You ain't everybody's money. 

Tilda. Glad to be rid of me, wouldn't you ? 

Mrs. F. Yes, and sorry for the man that gets you. 

Tilda takes up striped cotton shirt and examines it 
critically. 

Tilda. These sleeves ain't set in the same. And 
there's no draw-tape. And you ain't boned the 
collar-band. And I told you I wanted white hooks, 
and you've been and put black ones. 

Mrs. F. Better make the next yourself. Wonder 
how long that'll hold together. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 17 

Knock at door. 

Tilda. Whoever's that ? Come in. 

Enter Daisy Meadows. She sJiould be a nice, gentle- 
looking little girl with hair brushed off her forehead. 
She is very plainly but tidily dressed in a dark skirt, 
with a cotton or flannelette shirt. She should wear a 
fiat hat, simply trimmed with ribbon, and perhaps a 
motor scarf twisted round her neck. She is the sort 
of girl who looks innocent, yielding and childlike, but 
has an obstinate will where her own desires are con- 
cerned, and generally contrives to get her own way. 
At this moment she looks pale and agitated, as though 
she had something on her mind. 

Daisy (speaking with a nervous tremor in her voice, 
yet with a certain quiet determination). Oh, good 
afternoon. 

Mrs. F. Oh, it's Miss Meadows. Good-afternoon. 

Daisy (in same tone). I wanted to see you, Tilda. 

Tilda (with assumed carelessness). Well, here I 
am, as large as hfe. Sit down, won't you ? 

'Dm?>y (looking at yi-RS. FiSHwacK). No, I mustn't 
stop. I'd — Fd got something to say to you, Tilda, 
but it'll do another time. Or p'raps you could come 
out for a stroll. 

Tilda (looking at Mrs. Fishwick, who settles herself 
more comfortably in her chair). Ma — you know you've 
got to wash out them tan stockings of mine for to- 
morrow. Why ever don't you go and rub 'em out 
now. There's plenty of boiling water, and you'll have 
nice time before tea. 

Mrs. F. (with a feeble attempt at rebellion). But 
you've got a clean pair in the drawer. There's only 
a little hole where you always kick your stockings out. 
I could soon darn that over 

Tilda (picking up kettle). I told you I wanted the 
pair with the clocks for to-morrow. Here, take the 
kettle. (Hands it to Mrs. Fishwick.) 



18 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

Mrs. Fishwick takes kettle, and slowl'f rises. 

Tilda. Get a move on. 

Mrs. F. [crossing to door l., with sarcasm). Any 
more little jobs you've got for me ? 

Tilda [coolly). Not just now. Mebbe I shall 
think of some after tea. 

Mrs. F. [going out L., grumbling). I wonder who 
you'll get to wash and mend for you when I'm gone. 
Don't suppose I shall be here much longer. Perhaps 
I shall have an easier time when I'm an angel. 
(Exit.) 

Tilda [turning to Daisy with a defiant air). Well, 
what is it ? 

Daisy comes down, and stands r.c, facingJiLD a, who 
sits on table swinging her legs. Daisy is evidently 
strung up, and speaks in a quiet, tense voice, with a 
tremor suggestive of the feeling she is holding in. A s the 
scene proceeds, her hold on herself gradually relaxes, 
and she grows more agitated till the tears come. Tilda 
preserves an air of impudent coolness. 

Daisy. Mr. Emerson's been here. 

Tilda. He has. 

Daisy. He tea'd with you last Saturday. 

Tilda. He did. 

Daisy. And he saw you home from the Social 
Monday night. 

Tilda. That's so. 

Daisy. You're going to walk out with him to- 
morrow. 

Tilda. I am. 

Daisy [bitterly). I wonder you ain't ashamed. 

Tilda [turning on her). Well, I ain't. 

Daisy [with increasing agitation). We've been 
walking out for months. Everybody knew he was 
my chap 

Tilda gives an aggravating little laugh. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 19 

But of course, if a girl throws herself at a young 
feller's head 

Tilda. Oh, shocking ! I shouldn't have thought 
it of you, Daisy. 

Daisy (beginning to melt, and subsiding into chair, 
R.). And we wasn't only walking out. We'd settled 
to get married as soon as he'd got his rise. {Sniff.) 
We'd begun to get the home together. I'd bought a 
pair of cut glass dishes. (On last word her voice rises 
to a sob.) 

Tilda (who has been whistling and swinging her legs, 
suddenly stops, as though impressed in spite of herself). 
Oh — I didn't know that. I did not know you' Id 
begun to get the home together. 

Daisy. I'd begun to make my underthings. And 
now they'll be wasted. I couldn't wear 'em for 
common. (Soh.) 

Tilda (getting off table, and crossing to her). Oh, 
for Gaw^d's sake, don't keep snivelling. Mr. Emerson 
ain't the only kipper on the barrer. There's plenty of 
fellers about. 

Daisy. But not like Walter. He's so intel-intel- 
lectual. They think all the world of him at the Insti- 
tute ; and he said — he said he was going to form my 
mind. (Sob.) 

Tilda (sotto voce). You've got to get one first. 

Daisy. And so gentlemanly ! Always takes the 
outside of the pavement vvhen walking — always lifts 
his hat at parting and keeps his nails so beautiful 

Tilda (slowly, and with lingering regret). Yes, no 
one can't say Mr. Emerson ain't quite the gentleman. 

Daisy. Used to call me his little floweret 

Tilda turns her head sharply. 

Ain't been near me for a fortnight now. (Chokes 
Then with change of tone.) Of course, I know you're 
more stylish than what I am. Mother's kept me that 
strick. I dare say (with a curious glance) — if / had 
a hat like that 



20 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

Tilda. Hoh, you think Mr. Emerson c^mes after 
me hat and feathers, do you ? 

Daisy. Yes, and your dressy blowse, and your 
padded hair. 

Tilda. It ainH padded. . . . Well, why don't 
you get yourself up more stylish ? Look at that hat 
now ! You can't expect a superior 3^oung feller like 
Mr. Emerson to walk out with a hat like that. 

Daisy (plaintively). I ain't got no long black 
feathers. 

Tilda. Why ever don't you belong to a feather 
club, same as me and other girls ? 

Daisy. Mother don't think it's nice. 

Tilda. Nice be blowed ! You earn your own 
money, don't you ? You should have brought your 
ma up same as I've brought mine. . . . Give me some- 
thing with a bit of a dash about it. This hat now^ 

{Putting it on.) 

Daisy. Ow, it is heaui\hx\ ! I should love to wear 
a hat like that. 

Tilda. Would yer ? Try it on. Here, take the 
pin out. 

Daisy removes her hat, and Tilda put the big hat on 
Daisy's head. 

Lor, don't it look a sight on your little flat head ? 
Why ever don't you fluff your hair out a bit ? 

Daisy. Mother don't think it's genteel. 

Tilda. Genteel be blowed ! Come on. Sit right 
here. Hold still a minute. (Takes hairpins out of 
Daisy's hair, and briiigs forward front part.) My ! it's 
as soft as silk, but it don't make no show. Pads is 
what you want. I've got a pompadour somewhere. 

Daisy. A pompey what ? 

Tilda (opens drawer, and takes out hair frame and 
comb. Pins frame on Daisy's head, and rolls her hair 
over it, talking all the time). Now, my hair — I just 
roll it round me fingers, pop the combs in, and it sticks 
out like wires. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 21 

Daisy squeaks. 

Now then — did I pull you ? All done by kindness. 
Will you have it one curl, or two ? This is going 
to be a little bit of all right, 

Daisy. Don't make me look fast, dear. 

Tilda {standing hack). There, that's something 
like — though I say it. Run and look at yourself. . . . 
I'll show you something. (Quickly takes out her own 
combs or pins, talking all the time, and flattens her front 
hair back, leaving her forehead bare.) This is how you 
Walk out with a chap. Fit to scare the motor-busses. 
Ever see a suffragette after a kick-up with a police- 
man ? The latest fashions for 'Olloway, the new 
winter health resort. Votes for women ! 

Daisy. Oh, you are a cure. 

By this time Tilda should have finished business with 
hair. 

Look at me now. There's an objeck-lesson for you. 

Daisy (giggling). Oh, Tilda, you do look a guy. 

Tilda (putting the big hat on Daisy again). Now 
the blowse is all wrong. Wherever did you get that 
measly little blowse ? 

Daisy. Mother chose it. 

Tilda (sniffs). So I should have guessed. What 
you think of mine ? 

Daisy (with enthusiasm). It's perfectly sweet. 
Real dressy, and yet so chaste. I should love to 
wear a blowse like that. 

Tilda. Would yer ? You can try it on if you like. 
Here, help me off with this. Hurry up. 

Daisy quickly unhooks Tilda's blouse. Tilda takes 
it off, disclosing a pink ivoven petticoat-body. She 
helps Daisy into it, talking all the time. 

It's too big for you, but it'll go on over your own- 
Lor', ain't you slight! Wherever do you put your 



22 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

dinner ? Hold still. Blessed if you don't wriggle 
like a flea on a hot plate. Blow these hooks — wher- 
ever ma gets 'em ! — and these eyes have got the 
squint. There — that's the last. Now run and look 
at yourself in the glass. 

Daisy {running across to glass on wall, L., and survey- 
ing herself). Ow, I do look nice ! 

Tilda (putting on striped cotton shirt her mother has 
been working at). Bit of style about you now. That's 
a dressy blouse, I will say. (Looking at Daisy's hat.) 
This hat of yours ain't such a bad shape. I could 
trim it up so's you wouldn't know it. 

Daisy (eagerly). Could you ? 

Tilda (hesitates, looking from one hat to the other). 

I — er — let's see now — p'raps (With a sudden out 

hurst of generosity .) Tell yer what it is, if you'll leave 
that old thing behind, I'll lend you my hat to take you 
over Sunday. 

Daisy (with rapture, yet hardly able to believe in her 
own good fortune). Oh, Tilda, you wouldn't really ! 
You can't mean it.^ Reely ? (Crestfallen.) But I 
ain't got a blowse fit to go with it. 

Tilda, (impatiently). Then set to work and make 
one, or get your ma to do it. 

Daisy (sadly). I ain't got a pattern. 

Tilda. You don't seem to have got much. Never 

saw such a little bit of gawd-'elp-us. I (Hesitates, 

eyeing the smart blouse, and looking down at her own 
shirt.) I — um — I'll — no, I wo (With another splen- 
did outburst of generosity.) Tell yer what it is — I'll 
lend you that blowse to take the pattern off of. 

Daisy (with agonized longing). Oh, Tilda, but I 
reely couldn't 

Tilda (mimicking her). Ow, Daisy, but you reelly 
could. . . . It's all right. I can wear my pink 
velveteen, and my second-best hat with the parrakeet 
trimming. It's better than most girls' best. 

Daisy. Oh, you are an old dee-ar ! (Kisses her. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 23 

With sudden recollection.) But whatever shall I say 
to mother ? 

Tilda. Tell her to go and put her head in a bag — 
the old blighter. (Takes concertina from hook on wall.) 
Didn't you say you'd been practising for the Choral. 
What you going to sing ? 

Daisy. " It's only a Beautiful Picture — in a beau- 
tiful Golden Frame." 

Tilda. Tune the old cow died of. (Makes noises 
with the concertina.) Let's have a verse. 

Knock, and enter Emerson quickly. 

Emerson. The man says your shoes won't be 

ready till — oh ( Stops short in dismay.) Oh, beg 

pardon — I didn't see (/^^^^ drops at finding himself 

between the two girls, and he looks as though he meant to 
bolt.) 

Tilda (easily). Miss Meadows has just called round 
to have a practice for the Choral. 

Emerson (in great confusion and discomfort). Daisy 

— Miss Meadows — for the moment I didn't hardly 

(Looking from one to the other.) Why — you — you've 
been and changed 

Tilda (readily and fluently, going up to back). Tm 
going to trim up Daisy's hat, and I've lent her mine 
to take her over Sunday. It's my first commission in 
the millingery line. I shall be setting up in Bond 
Street next, and cutting out the Countesses. (Takes 
length of pink ribbon out of drawer, and comes down to 
Emerson, ivho has been standing, R., with his eyes glued 
on Daisy, who sits l., looking self-conscious and happy. 
Tilda takes him by the shoulders, and pushes him down.) 
Sit down, Mr. Emerson, I want my dummy again. 

Puts Daisy's hat on his head, and twists ribbon round 
it, tying it into big loose bow in front. 

There, with a couple of yards of this ribbon — three- 
three at the Salvage Sale — and a paradise mount — and 



24 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 

a bunch of cherries — and a cut steel bucl>:le, yon 
wouldn't know this hat again. {Backs a little to see 
the effect of her handiwork, and laughs.) What price 
Rowmeo now ! 

Emerson (with dignity). Have you quite done, 
Miss Fishwick ? 

Tilda (removing the hat). Yes, thanks. Mr. 
Emerson, you make a first-class dummy. 

Emerson (looking with undisguised admiration at 
Daisy). I should hardly have known you, Daisy. 
You ought always to dress like that. Blue's your 
colour. 

Daisy bridles. 

Tilda (draws a wail out of concertina). You 
going to the Choral, Mr. Emerson ? Daisy is going 
to sing " It's only a beautiful picture — in a beautiful 
golden frame." Come on, Daisy, let's have a verse, 

Daisy (clearing her throat). Ow, I couldn't, I've 
got such a shocking cold. 

Emerson (encouragingly). Yes, give us a verse, 
Daisy — that's my favourite song. 

Tilda (boisterously). Oh, go on ! Don't be bash- 
ful. Goes something like this, don't it ? (Makes a 
weird flourish with concertina.) 

Daisy (gently). I think I could do it best alone, 
Tilda. 

Tilda. Oh, all right — all right. 



Stands centre, behind the other two, gently waving con- 
certina in time to the song. Emerson sits, with his 
eyes on Daisy. During the last lines he should mark 
time with his head or hat, as though moved. Daisy 
sits demurely on Jier chair, liuith her feet crossed, and 
her hands clasped, and sings in a careful childlike 
manner, with a little thread of a voice. 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 25 

Daisy (sings) — 

" If those lips could only speak, 

If those eyes could only see, 

If those beautiful gowlden tresses 

Were there in realitec. 

If I could but take your hand. 

As I did when you took my name — 

{Wit/i sentiment.) 
But it's only a beautiful Pic-ture 
In a bewtiful — gowlden Frame." 

As she stops, there is a faint sigh of pleasurable emotion 
from the other two. 

Tilda [throwing off the touch of sentiment into which 
she has been betrayed). That's something like, ain't 
it ? Knocks spots out of Shakespeare and the im- 
proving lecture. 

Daisy. Oh, I think Shakespeare's sweet. [With 
a glance at Emerson.) And I do love the lectures. 

Emerson {jumping up, and crossing to her). I've 
got the new syllabus here. I'll show you ; Tennyson 
— Browning 

Daisy. Tennyson's my favourite. I can say the 
Queen o' the May right through. 

Tilda. You'll stop to tea, both of you. We've 
got some bloater paste, and ma'll make us all some 
buttered toast. 

Daisy. No, I must be getting home. I told 
mother I was only running out to the post. 

Emerson (eagerly) I'll see you home. 

Daisy (stiffly). Oh, pray don't trouble, Mr. Emer- 
son. I'm used to walking alone. 

Emerson. It's hardly a step out of my way. 

Tilda (to Daisy). You'd best sew them feathers 
in, Daisy. They're a bit wobbly, and whatever you 
do, don't let 'em get a spot of rain. 

Daisy (solemnly). I'd be drowned myself sooner. 
Good-bye, old dear. (Kissing Tilda enthusiastically, 



26 TILDA'S NEW HAT. 



first on one cheek, then on the other.) I do think it's 
so sweet of you. (Kissing.) 

Tilda [impatiently). Oh, all right — that'll do. 
(Pushing her aside.) Good-bye, Daisy, good-bye, Mr. 
Emerson. (Going up.) I don't think I'll join your 
Mutual Improvement Society, thank you all the same. 
I'm afraid of being improved right away. 

Emerson (coldly). Good-evening, Miss Fishwick, 
I think it's a pity when young ladies have no desire 
for culture. Now Daisy is beginning to form a very 
correct taste. She can always perceive the clever 
bits I point out to her, can't you, Daisy ? 

Daisy (looking up at him). Yes, Walter. Good- 
bye, Tilda. (This should he spoken sweetly over her 
shoulder.) 

Emerson holds open the door for Daisy, who peacocks 
out, followed by Emerson. Tilda stands still for a 
moment. Then dashes down concertina, and calls. 

Tilda. Ma, you can come out now. 

Enter Mrs. Fishwick. 

Mrs. F. (grumbling). Time I did. (Catches sight 
0/ Tilda and starts.) Lord a'mighty, whatever you 
been and done to yourself ? 

Tilda (shortly). Trying a new style of hair- 
dressing. 

Mrs. F. (hanging tan stockings from chimney-piece, 
and beginning to busy herself with the tea-things). 
Better not try that too often, or you might crack the 
glass. You couldn't help being born homely, but 
you needn't go and turn yourself into a reg'lar Aunt 
Sally. 

Tilda (looking out of ivindow). There they go ! 
Don't they look a pair of sillies ? Never noticed his 
legs wasn't straight before. (Sniff.) And ain't his 
shoulders round ? (Sniff.) Don't my hat look 
lovely ? (Sniff.) 



1 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 27 

Mrs. F. [by table, cutting bread). What you keep 
sniffing for ? I told you you'd catch cold if you left 
off them warm knickers. 

Tilda. [Coming down to fireplace.) Is that old 
kettle boiUng ? [Takes up kettle. Then 'gives a yell, 
and drops it with a clatter.) Ovv ! [Begins to cry.) 

Mrs. F. [starting). Sakes alive ! What you done 
now ? 

Tilda. B-burnt me hand with the beastly old 
kettle. 

Rushes across to Mrs. Fishwick, flops down on the 
floor, and hides her face in her mother's lap. 

Mrs. F. [unexpectedly displaying real maternal 
tenderness and sympathy). There, there, it ain't so bad 
as all that. Let mother see. Why, it ain't even a 
bit red. 

Sob from Tilda. 

Don't you cry now, my pretty. There's plenty more 
better than him. You'd get a dozen any day if you 
held up your hnger. The smartest, handsomest girl 
in Chapel Street, though I say it. There ain't another 
to hold a candle to you. There — there 

Tilda [suddenly springi)ig up, and dashing away the 
tears). I ain't 'owling for him, so don't you think it. 
He's a lot too cultured for me. If ever he tries to 
improve my mind again, I'll improve his face so as his 
own mother won't know it. With his 'Amlets and his 
Rowmeos ! 

Mrs. F. [soothingly, taking up teapot to fill it from 
the kettle). No, you don't want no Rowmeos; what 
you want is a cup of mother's tea. [Begins to hum in 
cracked voice as she fills teapot.) 

" In the twi-twi -light, 
Out in the beautiful twi-light." 



2»? 



TILDA'S NEW HAT. 



/f^^ 



Tilda pricks up her ears at the tune. She i^ standing 
up centre. As she looks across at her mother, the 
hurt, angry look dies away, and her own broad jolly 
smile begins to dawn. 

" They all go out for a walk, walk, walk, 
A quiet old spoon, and a talk, talk, talk, 

Tilda {begins to laugh, and joins in the song). 

That's the time they long for. 

Just before the night. 

And many a grand little wedding is planned 

In the twi-twi-light." 

Dance, while Mrs. Fishwick waves the teapot in one 
hand, and the lid in the other, and looks on admiringly. 

Curtain descends on Dance. 

Second Curtain rises on Tilda still dancing, and 
Mrs. Fishwick waving the teapot. 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



DEC 18 1909 r 







FRENCH'S ACTING EDITI0N-7s. p. LIBRARY 



CONGRESS 



VOLUME 150 
8236 The Dentist 

2237 Taken for Granted 

2238 Just as Well 

2239 Hogmany 

2240 Pansy 

2241 A Doctor's Engage- 

ments 

2242 A Duet 

2243 My Milliner's Bill, Is. 

2244 My Aunt from Cali- 

fornia 

2245 His Life for Hers 

2246 The Meeting 

2247 The Umbrella 

Duologue 

2248 The Late Lamented 

2249 Woman Triumphant 

2250 Angelina's Lover 

VOLUME 151 

2251 Chrysanthemums 

2252 My First Client 

2253 Punctured 

2254 Old Pals 

2265 Honeymoon Tragedy 

2256 Commission 

2257 Hal, the Highwayman 

2258 Dinner for Two 

2259 Ninth Waltz 

2260 Human Sport 

2261 Collaborators 

2262 Mere Man 

2263 Packing Up 

2264 Paying Guest 

2265 'Enery Brown 

VOLUME 152 

2266 The Jilt 

2267 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb 

2268 A Marriage Has Been 

Arranged 

2269 Carrots 

2270 Conversion of Nat 

Sturge 



2271 Clerical Error 

2272 Aubrey Closes tl 

2273 Workbox 

2274 Two on a 'Bus 

2275 Bridget's Bluhd 

2276 That Brute Sim 

2277 Well Matched 

2278 Maker of Men 

2279 Gutter of Time 

2280 Game of Chess 




014 721 640 

Lucinda 
2310 Uncle Dick's Darling 



Aun 



VOLUME 153 

2281 Mr. Steiumann's 

Comer 

2282 Ella's Apology 

2283 Colour Sergeant 

2284 Helpless Couple 

2285 First Aid to the 

Wounded 

2286 Correct Thing 

2287 Their New Paying 

Guest 

2288 Domestic Entangle- 

ment 

2289 Salt of Life 

2290 Time is Money 

2291 Wally and the Widow 

2292 Deceitful Miss Smithy 

2293 Holly Tree Inn 

2294 Up-to^ate 

2295 Bit of Old Chelsea 

VOLUME 154 

2296 Wrong Side of the 

Road 

2297 The Open Door 

2298 Prima Donna (Pem- 

berton) 

2299 Lights Out(Pemberton) 

2300 Mirrorof Time 

2301 Three Blind Mice 

(Muskerry) 

2302 Privy Council 

2303 Snowed up with a 

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VOLUME 155 

2311 That Horrid Major 

2312 Bardwell v. Pickwick 

2313 House of Nightingalr 

2314 Turtle Dovee [d. 

2315 Superior Miss Pellen- 

2316 His Good Genius 

2317 Martha Plays the Fail 

2318 Dumb Cake 

2319 Proposing by Proxy 

2320 Phoonix 

2321 Boatswain's Mate 

2322 Final Rehearsal 

2323 Two Aunts at a Time 

2324 Nelson Touch 

2325 Convict on the Heai 

VOLUME 156 

2326 Grey Parrot 

2327 Ghostof Jerry Bund' 

2328 Bishop's Caiidlesticl* 

2329 Peacemaker 

2330 Changeling 

2331 Wire Entanglement 
♦ 2332 Prido of Regiment 

2333 "1588" 

2334 Man on the Kerb 

2335 O'Dowd 

2336 Impertinence of t 

Creature 

2337 Dramatist at Home 

2338 Martha the Soothsa- 

2339 Old Martha Is. 

2340 All Through Martha 



AN AMERICAN CITIZEN 
BILLY'S LITTLE LOVE 

AFFAIR 
BRACE OF PARTRIDGES 
BRIXTON BURGLARY 
CAPTAIN SWIFT 
CASSILIS ENGAGEMENT 
CHARITY THAT BEGAN 

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FACING THE MUSIC 
FASCINATING MR. VAN- 

DBRVELDT 
IDLER. 
IMPORTANCE OF BEING 

EARNEST 
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BARRIER 

BUILDER OF BRIDGES 

CAVE OF ILLUSION 

DANCING GIKL 

HYPOCRITES 

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